06-29-2014, 02:43 PM
White drank her beer and she opened her mouth in protest, but there really was no reason. She was all done with it. Hearing him call Ivan a White Knight made Zoya want to giggle and forget about her beer. She couldn’t argue with the man, however, Sarkozy had already seen her safely home once already, and despite their brief meetings, she considered him trust worthy. The fact that he had rushed to her when he thought her in trouble was testament to his character.
Then there was White, who after the evening they’d had, also seemed the sort of man she could trust despite their very brief interlude. After all, it wasn’t every day a stranger beat up men to get her drunken butt out of trouble. Of course, she’d helped a little. She did throw her drink at one of them, after all.
She took the offered card and smiled gratefully. After reading it, she raised a questioning brow and slipped it in her pocket to exchange it for her keys; all the while wondering just what a bar brawling, gun totting, card wielding, American did for a living. “Thank you, White. I’ll call you tomorrow with the address. Not a lot of fights down that way, though.”
“You are right, Ivan… and don’t let that get to your head, now.”
Zoya shook an admonishing finger at Ivan, keys jingling slightly in her hand. Unlike her roommates, she had a minimal amount of keys, and managed to untangle the ones White would want without much fuss. Not only did she need the rest, but she doubted the man would appreciate walking around with a cute little sparkly rhinestone turtle dangling from his keys.
“Here you go,”
she placed the key on his hand then gently tapped his nose before retrieving her hand. “Now if you’d be so kind as to let me out.”
While she waited for him to let her out of the booth, Zoya had the sneaking suspicion that she could have very well lost a finger… or a hand… but she was feeling too good to care.
Edited by Zoya Bocharov, Jun 29 2014, 03:21 PM.
Then there was White, who after the evening they’d had, also seemed the sort of man she could trust despite their very brief interlude. After all, it wasn’t every day a stranger beat up men to get her drunken butt out of trouble. Of course, she’d helped a little. She did throw her drink at one of them, after all.
She took the offered card and smiled gratefully. After reading it, she raised a questioning brow and slipped it in her pocket to exchange it for her keys; all the while wondering just what a bar brawling, gun totting, card wielding, American did for a living. “Thank you, White. I’ll call you tomorrow with the address. Not a lot of fights down that way, though.”
“You are right, Ivan… and don’t let that get to your head, now.”
Zoya shook an admonishing finger at Ivan, keys jingling slightly in her hand. Unlike her roommates, she had a minimal amount of keys, and managed to untangle the ones White would want without much fuss. Not only did she need the rest, but she doubted the man would appreciate walking around with a cute little sparkly rhinestone turtle dangling from his keys.
“Here you go,”
she placed the key on his hand then gently tapped his nose before retrieving her hand. “Now if you’d be so kind as to let me out.”
While she waited for him to let her out of the booth, Zoya had the sneaking suspicion that she could have very well lost a finger… or a hand… but she was feeling too good to care.
Edited by Zoya Bocharov, Jun 29 2014, 03:21 PM.